


The Dreams Of Lovecraft's Wife

by Holy_Leonards_After_Dark (Holy_Leonards)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Tentacles, Cheating, Cock Rings, Consentacles, Crack, Far Harbor, LL Bean, M/M, Maine Locations, Mountains, Polyamorous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holy_Leonards/pseuds/Holy_Leonards_After_Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Male Sole Survivor wakes up to find a strange bedfellow. The gang follows it to its origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreams Of Lovecraft's Wife

**Author's Note:**

> So the boyfriend and I were watching The Night Gallery, Right? And we came (heh) upon a little skit called Miss Lovecraft Sent Me. My boyfriend got so hot and bothered that he hatched the plan for this fic. Enjoy.

The weather was unusual. The fog, at a minimum. Patches of blue peaked out from behind the thick blanket of green and gray clouds. The sun, a rare sight this north, shined through filthy windows. The day was unseasonably warm, and pleasant.

Which is why the people of Far Harbor were uneasy. Saying things like, “The hell is that wicked ugly, yellow thing in the sky!” and, “My flesh is burning!” and even, “I'm boiling like a lobster!” (cringe) one would scream as they experienced a sunburn.

Nate paid no mind to the weather. He was used to hot as balls days, due to his childhood living in the city. Concrete ground, surrounded by wind-blocking buildings. He was used to stewing in pollution, which is why he slept comfortably well into the day. Under blankets, even.

Nate only woke when he felt something slither into his bed. It smelled like the sea.

“Jesus! Hancock, close your legs!” he screamed as he jumped out of bed.

“...” There was no answer.

“Hancock?” Nate questioned, eying the bulge in the sheets.

Nate pulled the blankets back and screamed.

It was a tentacle. And it was staining Nate's fresh sheets! God dammit!

“I don't remember bringing you home last night!”

The tentacle still said nothing, because it was a tentacle.

“Well, I'm not one to ignore someone in need. And you clearly came to me for help.”

Then, Nick walked in. “Are you cheating on me? Again?!”

“Nick, it's not what it looks like.”

“Like Hell it isn't.” A single tear escaped the synth's eye, followed by a cigarette. “Oh!” He exclaimed as it rolled down his face, into his hand. He lit it up and smoked it.

“Nick, he needs our help.”

“Now why would I help the man who cheated on me, with the bastard he did it with?”

Just as Nick finished speaking, Rod Serling stepped out of the room Nick had been sleeping in, placing a cigarette into his handsome mouth. His chest was bare, and hairy. Very hairy.

“Let me get that for you, babe,” Nick said, lighting Rod's cigarette with his own.

Nick's (so help me, god) yellow eyes bolted to Nate's direction. He understood the compromising situation he'd been caught in.

“Alright. So maybe this isn't the healthiest relationship. Maybe both of us are cheaters, but-”

“We have to help him.”

“Alright,” Nick said, defeated.

“It's attached to something, let's follow it!”

Nick, Nate, and Rod Serling followed the tentacle's body. It lead them up hills, and down hills, and through swamps filled with radioactive lobsters, and through L.L Beans, and up hills. Finally – at the top of Mount Katahdin – they reached the end of the tentacle.

“Who designed this state? A fitness instructor?”

“Maine and Mountain both begin with M.”

“I'm so glad you came,” the monster said.

“Not yet, Bucko.”

“What?”

“Go on,” Nick said.

“I am Watipus.”

“Ha!” Nate laughed. “What-a-puss!”

The monster looked clearly hurt. “I brought you here to help me.”

“First, tell me...” Nate crossed his fingers. This dialogue option was as red as the communists he'd fought in the war – and as red as Santa Claus was after he got shot down in Rod Serling's script, _No Christmas This Year._

A single tear rolled down his handsome face when he though about that elf, which hit by shrapnel. Another tear fell, because that script was never produced.

It's okay, Rod. I'm crying too.

“Shut up, you two!” Nate yelled. “First, tell me. What are you?”

The monster looked hesitant. “I am an octopus. Or at least, that's what I originally was. When the bombs dropped, the sea became so irradiated. Nearly everything died, and those that didn't suffered horrible side effects. That's why I'm such a ridiculous size. As you can probably tell, I have also experienced a boost in intelligence. That's why my head is so big.”

Nate examined the octopus. “You're head is oddly... penis shaped.”

“Its called a mutated helmet, because of all of the giant hail or whatever falls arou-okay, you got me, I'm a penis monster.”

“Then why are you called puss?”

“Its Watipus, thank you, and I chose my name so that you would never figure out my true identity, even if I tell you.”

Nate looked impatient.

“Will you hurry up and penetrate us, jesus christ, these dialogue options are always so boring. Why do I even bother with the charisma ones? They never get me laid. Prove me wrong, penis boy!”

The three weary travelers dropped trou and assumed the penis raking position.

“Ah! I haven't seen such a fine trio of asses since the great radioation storms of '07”

“2007?”

“No, you scenie weenie, 2207, the year of the goth!”

“What's a goth?”

With that blasphemous statement, the penis horror inserted two little penis horrors into each of their behinds, instantly causing ejaculation for each one of them. The monster withdrew the arms from two of them. One, the late, great, Serling, kept his in and continued to come to completion on the top of that mountain for another three hours.

“Gees, Nick, you picked a keeper.”

Nick couldn't respond. He was so turned on by the sight that no amount of cigarettes in the world could make him look away.

Rod and the penis horror were a raw mess by the end of it. All lube that there was to speak of was absored into Rod's body and he looked like a five foot four (those are two measurements) heavy kid.

“Thank you, you three, for that wonderful time!”

“No prog, penis horror.” Said Rod, not thinking his words through.

“Don't remind of what I am!”

The monster launched them back to the Commonwealth.

“Wow, fast travel game on point!”

“You bet!”

“So, Nick, about that boyfriend of yours.”

“Yes?”

“Wanna go three way steady?”

“Already aheady of you.”

Nick produced three black rings. No, not for fingers, for penises. It was gonna be one kinky honeymoon, with a top notch introduction to boot.

 


End file.
